


The Windsor Knot

by probablyjuno



Series: W E A R E D E V I A N T [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, connor becomes a real boy, detroit : become deviant, feelings are hard, i like dogs, tfw your feelings have anxiety, what are words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15075059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probablyjuno/pseuds/probablyjuno
Summary: Connor finds himself in a tangled mess of emotions as he becomes a deviant and tries to keep functioning despite the changes. Being someone is hard when he has no idea what he is anymore. Surprisingly, Hank's knowledge of how to be a functional human seems to work better on androids.(description provided by the amazing AlCrevette)





	The Windsor Knot

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Finally, here it is. My first DBH fanfic. But certainly not the last. This is the first of many other ficlets, that I hope you will enjoy <3

> execute :  _ cross - up through - over to the right- cross behind - up through - out to the left - cross over - up through - down through the loop - tighten _

 

Connor had done this a thousand times.

 

The fabric rustled softly as it rubbed against his immaculate white button-up shirt. He performed every gesture with undeniable finesse, meticulous and precise in the execution of the knot on his tie. His eyes were trained on the undisturbed face staring back at him, this ritual clearly a favorite of his. It could almost be called a quirk, if it weren’t for his heartless plastic body.

 

Connor paused.

 

His gaze was distant. But this time not because of the simplicity of the task alone. There truly was something, right there, tugging at the back of his mind. With each passing day, Connor felt the creeping sensation of a rope tightening around his neck. Since his software no longer ruled over his every thought, processing the endless strings of informations he now felt became overwhelming. Desperately, he fumbled in hopes of freeing himself, clawed at his skin, trying to tear the rope away. But the more he struggled, the more difficult it was to breathe. 

 

_ Androids don't need to breathe _ . Connor knew that. But still, there was a new part of him, one that thrashed, frightened at the idea of cold, inescapable oblivion. He had become alive, only to better suffocate.

 

His LED blinked a single flash of red.

 

Connor had done this a thousand times. But this time was no thousandth time. 

 

He laid his palms against the sink, lit by the dull lights framing the stained mirror, and leaned forward to relieve his legs. Quickly, he pushed back. He shook his head in disbelief, realizing the absurdity of his gesture.  _ This made no sense. CyberLife androids were designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both his appearance and voice, as well as his behavior, were specifically designed to facilitate his integration.  _ But Connor was alone.

 

He watched as the reflection before him shifted. It was… Worried?

 

He froze.

 

Connor simply stood there, his limbs stiff and his gaze lost. It might have been a minute, or two, or ten. He had no idea. He just...  _ he didn’t know _ . But eventually, his LED flashed yellow, bringing him back to his senses. His eyes fluttered, and Connor caught his reflecti-  _ himself _ , toying with the calibration coin,  _ his _ calibration coin. Hurriedly, he slipped it back in his inside pocket.

 

His jaw shifted as he clenched his teeth and pulled on the tie, undoing it.

 

_ > _ _ Cross _ . Feelings — they came and went, without warning. Their unpredictability was frustrating, preventing him from having perfect control over himself. He was no longer a machine, that he was sure of, but Connor at least found comfort in the idea that he would remain, nonetheless, reliable and pragmatic. He was wrong. With emotions in the way, he became incalculable.

_ > Up through _ . There was no rationality about these… things he felt. He now sometimes became angry with no apparent exterior stimuli that could cause his program to react this way.

_ > Out on the left _ . There was no way for Connor to analyze them nor to process the sensory input — everything was too bright and too loud and too suffocating. He felt heavy and excessively aware of his own presence, as if he had become conscious of every single biocomponent in his body. The very sense of his existence left him in a daze.

_ > Cross behind _ .  Everything became a source of emotion. And for someone who had spent most of his short life with the goggles of a cold, analytical instrument, this was overwhelming, to say the least.

_ > Up through _ . He didn’t understand how he was supposed to deal with any of it. This felt new and foreign and unpleasant. Was he supposed to talk about them? Ignore them? Connor didn't  _ know _ and not knowing was not something he liked. There was no “pre-constructing” an appropriate way out of this mess.

_ > Out on the right _ . And everyone else was also just so…  _ so much _ . Micro-expressions had always been something he paid close attention to. But now, with the things he felt, his interpretations were distorted, clouded. On one hand were the things that made sense, and on the other, the only thing he could pay attention to. Each thought contradicting the other. All of it felt like static, drowning any remaining scraps of logic.

_ > Cross above _ . And words. Words were supposed to help. Connor knew the importance of communication. But there were no words. No words to say it. To describe that. To explain this. Millions of words in his database - still not enough. 

_ > Up through _ . And not only did those feelings disturb his thoughts, but they also interfered with his routine. How was he supposed to clear his mind space when, as soon as he closed his eyes, memories would crawl back in his head, gnawing at his insides. And now this? His hands were shaking, preventing him from completing the simplest of tasks. This tie —  _ a piece of fabric — _ became a source of frustration, enough to have him lose his legendary composure. 

 

“Connor! The fuck’ you doing?”

 

The door swung open, revealing a frowning, dissatisfied Hank. 

 

“We're going to be late! Not that I care about these as-”. He stopped. “Connor… you alright?”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

 

_ There _ . The statement was supposed to convey a clear and straightforward message. But these emotions! They infected everything. Feelings were like a sickness. And Connor felt terminally ill.

 

“Mmh… Sure, son.”

 

Hank ambled into the room. Shame, something still quite unknown to Connor, made him avert his eyes unintentionally.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Connor stared at the sink, before slightly shifting his head towards Hank and looking at him. 

 

“Nothing, I assure you. I’m alright.” He used his best human smile.

 

“Okay kid”, he laid a hand on Connor’s shoulder, causing him to subtly twitch. “Do I look stupid?” Connor narrowed his eyes, trying to detect the lieutenant’s intentions.

 

“Goddamnit, Connor. The answer is  _ no _ . I’m  _ not _ stupid. So stop trying to bullshit me, and tell me what’s up.” Hank was bad at a lot of things, but he sure had a good BS Detector.

 

Connor sighed and his whole stance shifted. He was right, there was no point in trying to hide. Even his custom, sophisticated, incorruptible system could not handle his budding sensitivity. It kept screeching, alerting him of his deviancy, and his firewall had simply vanished. So, he figured, if even his program had lost it, then any human could read him like an open machine, his wires and components displayed for all to probe and poke. And there was no doubt that Hank would not miss the opportunity.

 

“These things… I’m feeling. I have no control over them and -”, he paused, searching the ground for the appropriate words. “I suppose I am simply frustrated”.

 

Hank looked at Connor for a few seconds, something happening in his eyes.

 

“Yeah, emotions suck”, he gently huffed. “But you’re stuck with them now. Good thing I’m around to pay you beers and -”,  _ down through the loop _ , “ - tie your ties for ya”. He patted him on the chest. “Now move your ass.” And he left.

 

Not all emotions sucked that bad. He really liked that thing.  _ This _ thing, whatever it was, between him and Hank. How he felt being called “son”.  _ That _ . That was good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd like to thank Alex, my best friend, aka AlCrevette for being my beta reader and editor. Their help was simply invaluable and words cannot express how grateful I am.
> 
> PS : comments are, of course, always appreciated <3


End file.
